


warm, beating, frantic, winged; music and blood (but then I was young)

by WhimperSoldier



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 02:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13801563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimperSoldier/pseuds/WhimperSoldier
Summary: The men circled the fire, raising weapons. Their combined panting echoed through the clearing, the fire popping merrily behind them, the only protection for whatever lurked in the dark. Cryon reached back, yanking a branch loose, waving the flame in front of him, hoping to scare away the creatures which were circling them in hunt.Somewhere in the darkness a wolf howled and Lyros screamed, the sound abruptly cut off to be replaced by the gory tear of fresh yielding to fang.





	warm, beating, frantic, winged; music and blood (but then I was young)

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda just want feral Stark children, I guess. 
> 
> Title is from Carol Ann Duffy's "Little Red Cap".

They went too far.

It had been a simple plan, nothing more, but the storm had acted up and forced them farther into unknown territory than they had originally planned for. Cryon had pressed his men forward, forced the skittish to dig a bowl deep enough for their group and gear in a small clearing free of trees. The deep snow was hell on the blood slowly coagulating on their clothes but insulated their fire and bodies enough for the night so that they might not freeze to death.

The group of twenty men huddled like children around the flames, running hands under arms and huffing into their gloves to avoid frostbite. A few laughed, passing a flask and chuffing under their breaths, warm on wine and the weight of the coins in their purses.

A rustle to their back sent the men up into arms. They gripped knives protectively in their hands and the ones who did have swords hefted them, the fabric of their coats crunching with frost. The snow made visibility low, nothing but the shadows thrown off by the fire could be seen between the twisted trunks of the trees.

“Ser,” one called, shaking so hard Cryon thought he might vibrate right out of his boots. He nodded for the boy to continue, focusing instead on their surroundings. He wondered when it had gotten so dark. “Where has the moon gone?”

Cryon froze, slowly lifting his head up to see a sky devoid of the moon, empty and starless as a bolt of black cloth.

“Fall back-” Lyros called seconds before his voice was cut off, his body yanked into the shadows by a beast with teeth the size of Cryon’s arm.

The men circled the fire, raising weapons. Their combined panting echoed through the clearing, the fire popping merrily behind them, the only protection for whatever lurked in the dark. Cryon reached back, yanking a branch loose, waving the flame in front of him, hoping to scare away the creatures which were circling them in hunt.

Somewhere in the darkness a wolf howled and Lyros screamed, the sound abruptly cut off to be replaced by the gory tear of fresh yielding to fang. 

A wolf padded into the clearing, its mouth a bloody maw, walking not in stalk but as if it were a great hunting hound returning a shot bird to its master. From it’s jaws rolled Lyros’ head, his mouth twisted into a gross parody of a smile.

The stink of urine filled his nostrils, the men shaking in fear and pissing themselves in the face of a direwolf. Crayon looked into the beast’s eyes and instead found the flash of human intelligence, eyes a light blue, so clear to as almost be white, which as he watched, faded slowly to an animalistic black.

“Dear god, what is that?” Slode whispered, the knife gone from his hand and dropped in the snow. His face was red from the cold and the tears which had frozen on his face.

A figure appeared on the beast’s back, covered in a dark pelt so thick they blended into the fur of the creature. The wolf pelt was pulled back until they were met with the face of a girl, cheeks still rounded with childhood but eyes glowing an eerie blue. Her face was painted, a long stripe of blue under her eyes that met at the bridge of her nose. A string of pressed gold chips lined her hairline sown along a vivid blood red band of cloth, a sign of wealth and a clue that created only more questions.

Devils and demons, travelers said, made home in the North. Crayon had not believed them, written them off as old wives’ tales, things said to keep thieves away, thieves like them in fact.

“You have taken what does not belong to you. Return it now or face justice,” She said, voice as sweet and soft as honey, not yet past her sixteenth name day.

One man made to run for the girl but the wolf easily caught him in its jaws, crunching loudly and shaking its head to tear him limb from limb. The beast dropped the corpse with a wet thud, the blood looking almost like spilled ink on the snow. It growled, a warning to the remaining men, the man’s viscera still dripping from its teeth.

“We took only what we needed,” Cryon said, opening his pack and tossing the bag of coins towards the girl. She sneered at them, a vicious twist of her mouth that was echoed in her wolf.

“You took too much,” She said, “you took lives and livelihood, broke bones and bonds,” Here she looked behind them, to the far treeline which was now swarming with wolves, a few of which also had people on them, all waiting, as if for a signal “You took a woman.”

“We made a mistake!” A boy cried, green behind the ears and stupid beyond belief, he dropped the knife and ran for the trees. Cryon refused to look back, ignoring the sound of wolves tearing the boy apart in favor of watching the subtle tilt to her head, as if communicating with the others. She seemed torn.

An alpha, a voice whispered, the head of a pack, they are waiting for her decision.

“Please!” He cried, falling to his knees. “We are all lost in this world, disconnected from our kin, we have nowhere to go and no one to love, only each other! You must understand, with all the sweetness in your heart, I know you feel our plight! Women are not breed to be cold-hearted, you wish to see us free and for justice to be given, well we will give you our word never to pillage again, to never partake in any rivalry or misdeed, only if you will have pity, pity on poor men who only wish to use your sweetness but once!”

“My sweetness?” She laughed, the gold trinkets clinking together in perfect melody with her laughter. Her smile remained unforced, loose and childlike. “Alright, little thief, run for the border, see how far my sweetness will carry you.”

They ran.

~ ~ ~

Ghost materialized beside her, Jon aside, his sword tucked against his side and is bow knocked with an arrow.

“You are letting them go?” He asked. He would follow her lead, her ever faithful cousin, whatever her decision. “After what they did to that woman-”

“I’m sending a message,” Sansa says, fixing the ties holding back her hair, knowing the ride forward would be rough. “They raped Kana then whipped the skin from her back in pleasure along the roads we are sworn to protect. Blood begets blood, Jon. This is not mercy, just a head start.”

“Which one?” He asks instead, tightening the cords to the pelt around his body and the ties in his own hair, preparing as she can see her other siblings are. This is Arya’s first patrol, and Sansa can see the twitching excitement in Nymeria’s jaw as she waits for the cue. 

“The leader,” She said, Lady shifting beneath her thighs, powerful corded muscle coiling and flexing in anticipation, Sansa’s scowl echoing to her wolf in a vicious snarl. “I want to show him the depth of my _sweetness_.”

Ghost paws the ground, taking note of the tension building, the wolves circling into formation, fanning out, growling and snapping, maws dripping with saliva, Lady’s red with blood. Jon simply raises his bow at the men tripping through the snow towards the border they will never again see.

“After all, how many men are needed to deliver a message?”

Jon smiles, too many teeth to be completely pleasant, and she feels a jolt of heat flare to life in her stomach. He takes aim.

“One.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on tumblr at Whimper-Soldier


End file.
